


The Five Senses

by diving_bell_spider



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nonbinary Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), falling in love in the kitchen, kitchen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29324544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diving_bell_spider/pseuds/diving_bell_spider
Summary: Gon Freecs takes a summer job as a dishwasher and enters the hectic, fast paced and sometimes dangerous world of food service. There he meets Line Cook Leorio, Prep Cook Kurapika, Head Chef Biscuit, Sous Chef Hisoka -- and the enigmatic dishwasher trainee, Killua.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

“Not bad, kid.”

It’s Tuesday, the first Tuesday of summer, and Gon is washing salad dressing off of dinner plates. 

“Keep going! I’ll check up on you in a bit,” says the line cook, whose name Gon has already forgotten. The tall man bounds off, yelling “corner!” as he exits the dish pit and disappears onto the line. 

Gon keeps washing. He loses track of time, and the dishes keep coming. He soon realizes that the dish pit is a thorough-way, as every member of the kitchen bustles behind him, shoving more and more dishes on the towering dish rack, saying “right behind” or “knife walking!”or “corner!” Some even stop and say “who’s this kid?” to which his dishwashing counterpart, Zushi, replies “he’s a stage.” But sometimes when zushi is off returning clean dishes to the rest of the kitchen, Gon bolts around when asked these questions and says brightly “I’m Gon!” 

Gon tries to be as fast as he can, even though this is his first time using a commercial dishwasher. The looming machine has massive metal doors, which swing up and down almost like a guillotine. Gon quickly establishes a rhythm with the machine, and in no time he stops needing Zushi’s instructions at all. He just keeps moving. 

And then “corner!” very loudly, and the tall man from before comes swinging into the dish pit, his gangly appendages bent in exaggerated movement at his side and his chest puffed out unnecessarily. 

“Hey kid! Time’s up! How’d you d— wow!” 

Gon grins and lets out a little laugh. “I had fun! Mr....?”

“Leorio.” The man fills in and waves his hand as if it’s unimportant. “Kid, you did great. And you said you have no dish washing experience at all?”

“Nope!” Gon announces, bouncing happily on the balls of his feet. “But I help my Aunt Mito out a lot in the kitchen!” 

“Right! well, that’s cool. Let’s go have a little chat if you don’t mind, Gon.”

Leorio does an exaggerated bow, gesturing Gon to leave the kitchen. 

—

Leorio leads Gon out to the bar of the busy restaurant. Gon stares wide eyed at the hanging light fixtures and dangling plants, which descend from a vaulted ceiling. He then fixes his gaze on the floor, which is a shiny industrial concrete. The wooden legs of his bar stool match the rest of the restaurant’s furniture; smooth, dark wood. 

Gon spins around, as he waits for Leorio to grab some paperwork. Every table is affixed with a candle, casting a soft glow on each customer. Most of the customers are laughing and talking animatedly, taking deep sniffs of their wine or else making exaggerated facial expressions, showing apparent reverie for the food they are consuming. 

Leorio plops down on the stool next to gon, bent over some papers. He mutters “Gon Freecs” slowly to himself, scrawling the name across the top of the paper. “Okayy. Down to business.” He pushes his small circular glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“So, Gon—“

“Uh-huh.” Gon is still grinning.

“How’d you like the kitchen?”

“It’s great! It’s so big, and everyone is super nice!”

Leorio looks taken aback for a moment and then bursts into laughter, tossing his head back. “You’re funny, kid. I'm glad you liked it so much.” Gon just smiles brighter. Leorio takes a second to rearrange his papers and then “How about your availability?”

“Oh I’m available all the time. I'm on summer break, and I don't have any plans, so I’m around.”

Leorio scribbles this info down, whispering “open availability” and draws a little smiley face next to this info. Looking pleased with himself, he glances down at some of the typed statements and reads out, “Why are you interested in working at Hunter’s?” 

At this, Gon hesitates. He looks down at his hands, and for a moment even appears bashful. “Well, see, my dad is a chef, and I don’t really know him, but I thought if I could enter the cooking world, well—“ Gon looks up, smiling once again, “I might get closer to finding him!” 

Leorio opens his mouth as if to speak, but then stops and just smiles. “You’re something else, aren’t you Gon? Most people just say they need a little money.”

Gon grins and pipes up “What about you, Mr. Leorio? Why do work at Hunter’s?”

“Wha-? Well, I’ve been working here a few years.” Leorio is rubbing the back of his head. “And I guess I'm just trying to save up money.” He finishes, rather tepidly. 

“That’s cool!”

Leorio smiles.

Then, he stacks his papers, gets up from the chair, straightens his posture and sticks out his hand. Gon takes it and shakes energetically.

“We’ll be in touch, Gon!” 

“Ok!”

But then, casting a glance toward the kitchen, Leorio bends over, his hand next to his mouth and says, “But between you and me, you got the job.”

“Yes!” Gon whisper-exclaims, pulling a triumphant fist from the air.

And with that, Gon swings his backpack over his shoulders and tightens the straps before running off towards the exit.

“Wait, Gon!”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still wearing our apron!”

Gon smiles and blushes “Sorry about that.” Then he wads up his apron and tosses it to Leorio before officially bolting out of the restaurant and into the warm night air.


	2. Enter Kurapika

_ chapter 2 _ : enter kurapika

Leorio can’t quite put his finger on why, but he is certain Gon will be more than a good hire—he will be an  _ outstanding _ hire.

Leorio goes as far as to tell Bisky, the head chef, about Gon. 

“Bisky, he’s great! You’ll love him.” To which Bisky responds “Leorio! What the hell are you doing back here? Get back to the line!”

Leorio shoots Bisky a smile, before sprinting to the line. 

He gets to his station and faces Zephile, who is yelling out the orders coming from the window “Leorio, two trout, three ribeye, two potato sides.” 

Leorio parrots the orders. Then gets to work, first grabbing the pans down from the hangers, then turning up the heat, adding quick squirts of oil from a squeezie, battering the fish in its seasoning, and plopping the meat in it’s pan. He opens his drop down and pulls a few handfuls of potatoes, then notices he only has a few order’s worth left. Not enough for the rest of the night.

So, he calls through the window to the kitchen, “Hey Wing, got two orders of potatoes left. Gonna need some more.”

Wing replies “Message received.” Then Wing turns around and says “Kurapika!”

The prep cook opposite of Wing looks up from their cutting board and says in a level voice “Should I pull the potatoes?” having already keyed into the conversation. The prep cook, who only started a few weeks ago, peers out from under their blond bangs, not looking at Leorio.

“Yeah, and bring them to Leorio’s station.”

“Ok.” replies Kurapika. They set their knife down and head towards the walk-in, still not caring to glance up at Leorio, who continues to stare into the kitchen after Kurapika. 

Wing notices that Leorio is still staring. “Need anything else?” Wing asks with one eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

Leorio can feel his face flush.  _ It’s just the heat _ , he tells himself. _ No one will notice. Everyone will just think it’s the heat. _ He tells himself again. 

And then a stern voice says “Corner.” And Leorio must tell himself again that it’s just the heat from the burners that’s making his face so red. Kurapika sidles up beside him and quickly rearranges Leorio’s array of messy metal containers without speaking, sliding the nearly empty one out and tossing its remains on top of the new one.

“Hey, why’d you rearrange? I have a system!”

“It’ll work better this way.” Kurapika finally dares to look up and exchange eye contact with Leorio, meeting Leorio’s now furious gaze. Kurapika continues “You’ll see. This arrangement will allow more efficiency in movement.” Kurapika goes to mimic some of the potential movement.

Leorio does not manage to say anything in response. A vein in his forehead starts to twitch. 

Then Kurapika gazes up into Leorio’s eyes, unwavering. The blonde prep cook, who’s so much shorter than Leorio, stares just a second too long for Leorio’s comfort, before swirling around and turning the corner.

Now, Leorio is not only furious but flustered. He says Kurapika’s words “It’ll work better this way” in a mocking tone under his breath.  _ Yeah? What do you know, punk?! _

But to Leorio’s absolute horror, Kurapika’s system does work better. It makes more sense.  _ Damn _ . He thinks to himself. 

—

The thing about working in a kitchen, is that you are very close to people. All the time. You have to constantly announce your presence with an endless string of “right behind” “right above” “to your side” “walking behind” “corner” “hot pan walking” and “knife walking!”

Leorio thinks that he’s never been more acutely aware of how his gangly appendages interact with space than when he started working in a kitchen. In fact, he’s so aware of his long body, that he often stoops, with his hands shoved in his pockets, walking around the kitchen with a sort of perpetual concern. 

Despite his carefulness, sometimes the swing of his arm knocks into one of his coworkers or he accidentally steps on someone's foot, or in avoiding a collision, he might unwittingly swerve and bang his head against a low hanging pan. 

So, sometimes collisions are unavoidable.

It’s closing time. The last hanger-on customers are happily discussing the drama of their bourgeois life until they receive enough death stares from the staff to finally realize that it is in fact 20 minutes after close. Leorio, Zephile, and Goreinu all whoop as the door is closed. Zephile bolts up to the front to change the music and turn the dial to max volume. (Zephile is very into heavy metal from Berlin). 

And then the closing process officially starts. It’s a choreographed madness. People dart around each other, re-tubbing and wrapping everything that needs to go back to the walk-in, ripping off pieces of tape and labeling every item as fastidiously as they can stand. At least this is the case on the line—in the prep kitchen it’s a little more tame. Bisky has everyone under control, deep cleaning their stations, scrubbing counters and taking out the trash. 

Leorio finds himself in a strange state of mind tonight. Usually, he’s cracking jokes with the other line members, falling into his hardcore metal voice and attempting to sing in german. Or he’s striking up conversations, in a good mood now that the night is almost through. But tonight, he just listens to the other line members talk and joke and sing, occasionally chuckling or chiming in, but for the most part his mind is—elsewhere.

He’s uncomfortable admitting the truth, even to himself, but his eyes follow the new prep cook, Kurapika, around the kitchen, seemingly against his will.  _ This is stupid. It’s just cause the punk made me so angry earlier. _ However, this reasoning does not explain why, a few moments later, Leorio plans his trip to the dish pit in correspondence with Kurapika’s movement through the kitchen. 

This happens to be a purposeful collision on Leorio’s part. Kurapika and Leorio reach the dirty dish pile at the same moment and nearly bump into each other. The dishes are overloaded to the point of disaster. Looking over, Leorio realizes that it’s only Zushi on dish duty. He takes pity on the young dishwasher and starts to consolidate some of the overflowing dishes. He digs his hands into one of the greasy bus tubs and begins to stack similar items. Then he notices that Kurapika has started doing the same thing. The two of them glance sideways at each other, almost imperceptibly, but do not exchange a word. They both just continue to plunge into the bus tubs, their hands covered in the slick remains of half eaten food. 

“Thanks, guys. I promise, I’ll be faster next time.” Zushi says with an apologetic resolve.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, man.” says Leorio. He hands Kurapika a stack of plates. As he does, Kurapika’s fingers slide against his. It’s an ostensibly gross moment; two slimy hands coated in food—touching momentarily. Still, Leorio’s stomach performs an uncomfortable lurch. He can feel Kurapika’s body heat, standing this close. 

—

  
  


Leorio does not go out with the regular crew to get an after work drink. It’s late, and he still has some anatomy homework. 

He walks to the bus stop across the street, carrying his briefcase, his jacket slung over his stooped shoulders. He’s so tired, he feels he might just sink into the pavement and sleep there. 

He’s looking down at his phone as he crosses the street, searching for when the next bus will arrive.

“It arrives in 12 minutes.”

“Huh?” Leorio looks up to find a figure perched on the bus-stop bench, legs crossed, in an almost leisurely fashion, a book propped in their lap. 

It’s Kurapika. 

“Oh, cool thanks.” Leorio responds, hoping his voice doesn’t waver and reveal his heart’s palpitation. 

He sits next to Kurapika with an exaggerated sigh. “Loooonggg day.”

“Hmm.” Kurapika murmurs, still looking down at their book, which is barely illuminated by the dull bus-stop light.

Leorio tries to think of something to fill the now extending stretch of silence. He notices the way the bus-stop light falls down in an illuminated column, making Kurapika’s head of blond hair resemble a halo. “I’m sorry I was short with you earlier about my station.” Leorio says.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice you were short with me.”

_ Well, that’s rude.  _ Leorio thinks. And he chooses to say nothing.

But then Kurapika speaks, still staring at their book. “You and I work differently.”

“How do ya mean?”

“Well, it just seems like you don’t really care about your job.”

“That’s—you don’t know that.” Leorio is instantly enraged.

“Nobody with that messy of a station cares about their job.”

“Well—uh—you—you’re making a lot of assumptions!” Leorio splutters. 

Kurapika just lifts one eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Leorio points a disapproving finger at Kurapika, his face reddened with rage. “Who do you think you are?! Questioning me like this? It’s just a fucking job, and a shitty underpaying one at that.”

Kurapika shuts their book with a sharp snap and juts up towards Leorio, facing him. “What a crude thing to say. Working at Hunter’s is more than a job. It’s an opportunity to learn from master chefs and to understand the integrity of food to its fullest.” Kurapika takes a breath and speaks in almost a whisper. “You shouldn’t insult what you don’t understand. What you can’t even begin to understand.”

This is the first time Leorio has ever heard Kurapika speak with such sharp and palpable emotion, let alone any noticeable tonal shift at all. For a moment, Leorio is stunned, and he considers backing down. He barely remembers how the argument started, sitting here beneath the now flickering bus stop light, just the two of them, completely alone. But then the sting reaches him and he wants to defend himself. “You don’t know me, and besides, you’re wrong about the integrity stuff.” He forms his fingers into air quotations as he says the word  _ integrity.  _ “There’s no integrity in kitchen work. It’s just dirty job after dirty job, and you are deluding yourself if you think it’s anything else.”

Kurapika is silent now with their face turned slightly away. They do not make a sound, as Leorio’s heartbeat pounds violently through his head. If he could think above the roar of his insides, he would be thinking  _ I’ve gone too far _ , for all the sudden he can hear something above the sound of his own heart, and he thinks with growing dread, that the sound might be a sob. And then he is certain, as Kurapika’s body gives a soft little shake.

“Wait, Kurapika. I didn’t mean to...”

Kurapika puts a hand up to stop him, takes a breath, and then gets up, never once facing him. “Goodnight, Leorio. I’m going to walk home.”


	3. In Which Gon Has His First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitchens are romantic

Kurapika is 15 minutes early. They stuff their tote bag in a cubby in the break room, find a suitable apron, fill their water bottle with fresh water, and start looking over the day’s task. No one else has arrived, not even Bisky. The kitchen is still. Kurapika can hear the pages rustle as they shift beneath their fingers. They can even hear the gurgling noises of the water heater and the distant sound of a garbage truck. 

Kurapika leans over the prep list. They tuck their hair behind their ears and exhale slowly. It’s a long prep list today. Bisky arrives through the back door, coffee in hand and yawning. Once she has her apron on, she leans over next to Kurapika. 

“You’ll need another hand today.” Says Bisky.

“No. Me and Melody can handle it.”

“Nope, you’re wrong.” says Bisky, but she sounds almost glad. “You’re always stretching yourself too thin, Kurapika. Which—while admirable—is not sustainable.” Bisky grins. “And I can’t keep paying you overtime. So, we’ll have to get more help.”

“Who?”

Bisky puts her finger to her mouth, apparently thinking, and then her face lights up. “Line cook Leorio!”

Kurapika frowns. “Leorio doesn’t ever work morning shifts.”

“Today he does. He started summer session last week, and has a class this evening.”

_ What class? _ Kurapika wants to ask. But it would show too much interest. So instead, they say. “If you think it’s best.”

“I do! Set him to whatever task you want. He’s smarter than he looks.” Bisky giggles. 

—

Kurapika can hear someone big fumbling with the back entrance. They choose not to look up.

In fact, Kurapika does not look up at all until the tall person is standing right next to them, hovering. 

To their surprise, Kurapika finds not only a worn out Leorio, but a teenager as well. With spiky black hair, green shorts, and most noticeably—a smile. 

“Who...”

“Hi, I’m Gon!”

“This is Gon.” says Leorio.

Kurapika looks up at Leorio.

“He’s your new dishwasher. Hired him a few days ago. Today’s his first day.”

“Oh! But Gon, you’re extremely early. You’re not scheduled to start for another hour.”

“Oh no! Really? Dang. I must have read the email wrong.” Gon blushes slightly. “Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

“It’s fine.” says Kurapika. “Let’s get you started anyways.” And Kurapika starts to lead Gon away. As they do, they look back over their shoulder at the stooped Leorio. “Oh, and Leorio. You’re on prep today.”

—

Gon is clearly off to a good start. He finishes the morning dishes in minutes. “Ok.” says Kurapika. “Let’s get you cleaning mats.” They then proceed to show Gon how to hose down the mats outside. 

_ That ought to keep him occupied,  _ thinks Kurapika. But in only 15 minutes, Gon is lugging a huge stack of cleaned mats inside and proceeding to return them to the kitchen floors. Kurapika notices that Gon splashes a lot of water in the process.

“Hey, Kurapika! I’m done.”

“Ok...”

“Gon, you’re so fast!” Bisky pipes up, adoration gleaming in her eyes. She claps her hands in excitement. “Kurapika! Gon needs something else to do. How about you and Leorio show him how to cut beets. That’s something he can do.”

Kurapika nods. 

“Huh?” Leorio looks up, having heard his name. He stops cutting huge heads of cabbage and goes where he is beckoned by a wave of Kurapika’s hand. Gon bops his way over. 

Kurapika goes to the walk-in and pulls a cambro of roasted beets. By the time they return to the bench, Leorio has already pulled out a cutting board and knife. Kurapika doesn’t look at Leorio, just plops down the cambro, peels off the lid and pulls out a beet. To Kurapika’s annoyance, Leorio has already grabbed the knife. He looks down on Kurapika’s small frame and says “Do you mind? Or do I not have enough integrity to cut a beet?”

Gon, confused, looks back and forth between Kurapika and Leorio.

“Go ahead.” says Kurapika, crossing their arms in front of them and looking the other way.

“What? You can’t even bear to watch me cut a beet?” 

“What’s it to you if I look or don’t look?” Kurapika says in a decidedly cool tone. “You don’t deserve my energy.” Kurapika adds when Leorio says nothing.

“God, what made you this fucking stuck up?”

Kurapika inhales sharply through their nose, holding their breath before they speak in a would-be steady voice. “When you insult the profession of cooking, you insult me and you insult my family.” Kurapika looks away for an instant, appalled at the intensity of emotion which so easily rose to the surface. They want to stop speaking. They want to erase the moment and make it not matter. But a flush is rising through Kurapika’s body with a violent fervor. They take a deep breath and attempt to exhale, but it comes out as a shudder.

“I...your family...” Leorio starts. And then trails off. Gon still stands in the middle of the two adults, head spinning. 

“Yeah, my family. The Kurta. They live every day with a deep appreciation for the integrity of food and of serving food. You, Leorio, will never understand what it means to continue a lineage so deep.”

Leorio opens his mouth to say something, red appearing in his cheeks. 

“Can I try cutting the beet?” Asks Gon. 

“Go for it.” Replies Kurapika, shortly. And for a moment, Kurapika and Leorio are silently watching Gon at the cutting boar; Leorio looking confused and upset, his mouth pressed in a hard line; Kurapika looking silently rageful, their brow deeply furrowed and their shoulders drawn in defensively. 

Gon starts to cut the beet. He grasps the slippery sphere with his right hand and holds the knife unsteadily. The beet starts to roll, and the knife starts to slip. 

“No!”

Kurapika and Leorio both reach out at the same moment. Leorio grabbing the knife away from Gon and Kurapika grabbing Gon’s wrist. 

“Jesus! You almost cut your hand off! What were you thinking?!” Leorio exclaims.

“Yeah, Gon. You have to be more careful.” Says Kurapika with urgency.

“See.” Gon says.

“See what?” They both say at once.

“You agree on something.”

Across the table, Bisky smiles to herself. Kurapika and Leorio are both looking down. They are silent for a few long moments as Gon continues to look between the two. 

“I’m sorry.” Leorio breaks the silence. 

“I’m sorry too.” Says Kurapika an instant later. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Leorio fills in quickly.

“And I didn’t mean to assume you don’t care.” Kurapika finishes.

Leorio brightens. Then the blush that rises to his cheeks is glaringly visible.

Kurapika continues. “It’s clear to me that you do care, and I was wrong to challenge you on that. I lashed out unfairly. Truce?”

“Of course.” Leorio is almost looking away, seemingly unable to take Kurapika’s sincerity, but he continues to smile, and the whole room feels brighter for it. 

Bisky then exclaims. “You are two of the cutest freaks I’ve ever known!” Both Kurapika and Leorio respond with nervous laughter. 

Gon is beaming. He picks up the knife again and grabs the beet. This time with perfect form, creating a flat edge first so the beet doesn’t rock around, and curving his fingers into a first, with his knuckles creating a safe barrier.

“Hey!” exclaims Leorio.

“You knew how to do that all along.” Says Kurapika. 

“Yeah.” Says Gon. “But I don’t know what size they should be cut, so can you show me?” So Kurapika proceeds to show him.

  
  


—

  
  


After their shift, Kurapika gathers their stuff and heads out the back door. Leorio trails behind them, already pulling a cigarette out and beginning to light it. “Jeez, you don’t mess around on the prep side, do you?”

“No.” Kurapika responds with a little smile. They look across the street, watching the five o’clock sun pour through the tree branches. “You did good today, Leorio.”

“Really?” Leorio looks surprised. “That’s a lot coming from you, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.” Kurapika says, looking back at Leorio, who is starting to unchain his bike, his cigarette hanging out of his mouth. 

Leorio chuckles, attaching his lock to his bike and buckling a helmet to his head. 

Kurapika takes a deep breath. “Hey, Leorio. I’m...I’m sorry about earlier and last night. It’s just, I’m going through kind of a weird time, and I definitely was taking it out on you.” Kurapika tries to remember the words of their therapist as the world starts to blur around them and all they can focus on is the cigarette getting wet from Leorio’s saliva as it hangs out of his mouth -- then Leorio taking the cigarette out of his mouth and moving his lips as if to form words...and Kurapika brings themself back and attempts to slow down their heartbeat with a deep breath.

“Thanks, I really appreciate that, Kurapika. And I’m sorry too. I was being a bit bullheaded...to say the least.” Says Leorio. 

Kurapika doesn’t say anything, just kind of smiles for the briefest of moments. 

“Look, there’s Gon.” Leorio points across the street. “He did good today. Good hire, if I do say so myself.”

“Hmm.”

“ _ Excellent _ hire.” Leorio emphasizes. 

“What? Do you need more affirmation that you did a good job on that too?”

“You give it to me once, I’ll want it again…” Leorio says as they begin walking across the street towards Gon.

Gon is sitting at the curb, picking at weeds. 

“Hey, Gon! Good job today!” Says Leorio. 

“Oh, thanks Leorio!” Beams Gon. 

“Yeah, I think you’ll fit in nicely. Bisky seemed to like you too.” Says Kurapika. “Oh, and I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Asks Gon. 

“I’m sorry you had to see us fight today. I think we were both being a little immature.”

“Speak for yourself…” Mutters Leorio, but he is smiling. Kurapika shoots Leorio a quick glare. 

“No, I am glad I got to see you fight.” Says Gon. 

“Huh?” Leorio looks down at Gon sharply. 

“Well, My Aunt Mito says anger is the deepest form of caring. She says that you can really understand a person by what they get angry about. It’s clear that whatever you both were fighting about is very important to you. And I think I got to understand you both a little bit better for it. And I think you got to understand each other a little bit better too.”

Kurapika smiles up at Leorio, and Leorio blushes, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke in the other direction. “I gotta go. I have class in a half hour. I’d offer you a ride Gon, but the only seat I have available are my handlebars.” Says Leorio, now stamping out his cigarette on the pavement. 

Gon looks up excitedly. 

“No, I was kidding Gon.” Says Leorio quickly. 

“Oh…”

Leorio laughs. “Seeya later, kiddo. And bye, Kurapika.” He pushes against his pedals with his long legs and is quickly speeding off down the street and around the corner.

“Well, I have to be off too. Goodbye, Gon. It was nice meeting you today.” Says Kurapika, as they start to walk towards their bus stop, leaving Gon, picking at the flowers, which grow like a weed along the residential street. 

  
Kurapika can’t help but smile when they think about their day. They stare out the window on their bus ride home, pressed against two other passengers. Something about Gon makes Kurapika feel... _ hopeful _ ...was that the feeling? And something about Leorio...well Kurapika has to admit that they were wrong about Leorio. They had worked well together all day. Despite Leorio’s initial bullheadedness, he had proved to be a fast learner, listening to directions carefully and treating every task with attention and follow-through. Kurapika replays Leorio’s smile in their head, remembering how his cigarette had hung from his mouth, how his long slender hands had deftly unlocked his bike, how he had buckled his terribly dorky helmet below his jawline, inches away from where his shirt was slightly unbuttoned _...shit... _ thinks Kurapika. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I don't really know how much people know about kitchens. So I'm gonna provide a quick glossary:
> 
> BOH: Back of house; this includes the line, the dishpit, the walk-in and the prep kitchen.
> 
> FOH: Front of house; this is where costumers eat and where the waitstaff hangs out. 
> 
> The dishpit: This is where the dishes get washed! In big restaurants there is usually at least one commercial dishwasher, often a somewhat massive machine where a tray of dishes are quickly slid in, washed, and sanitized with extremely hot water and a slew of chemicals for maybe about 30 seconds. 
> 
> The line: This is where the food is prepared for costumers. The line cooks use food that is already prepped to prepare as quickly as possible. The line is usually the most hectic part of the kitchen -- it's fast paced and loud. There's lots of yelling orders and scrambling. On a busy night, the line is nothing short of hellish. 
> 
> The prep kitchen: This is where the food gets prepped. Planning happens here too. You'll see head chefs making new recipes and sous chefs overseeing less experienced prep cooks. 
> 
> The general hierarchy of things: Kitchens tend to be very hierarchal places. The order of things generally goes like this: Head chef, sous chef, prep cook, line cook, dishwasher. In the front of house: Manager, Server, Hostess, busboy. 
> 
> The walk-in: Short for walk-in refrigerator. Great place to cool off both physically and emotionally. 
> 
> Cambro: a type of food grade Tupperware essentially. 
> 
> The window: This is the window between the line and FOH where orders come through.
> 
> *All kitchens are different, and these are some pretty massive generalizations, but I hope they are helpful!!


	4. Enter Killua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> killua is a cancer. that's why the moon is mentioned.

Killua skates down the street. And he thinks to himself.  _ What am I doing in this wretched city with its wretched summer sun? _ Still, Killua is wearing a turtleneck. 

It’s dusk now, and the residential streets are silent. Killua is far from home, but it doesn’t matter. 

Killua glides down a side street, letting gravity pull his board onward, moving his center just slightly. The wheels trace a lazy serpentine “s” along the pavement. His expression is dead. He knows it is. He keeps it this way on purpose. 

Along the street, windows are starting to light up; a yellow glow bleeding onto the sidewalk. Most of the windows are obscured by blinds or curtains. But one in particular is wide open. 

He can see two figures on a couch, watching TV. Their walls are covered in bookcases and carefully arranged photographs. He reaches out his foot and stops his movement. He never knows why he is compelled. If someone asked him, he wouldn’t be able to articulate the urge.  _ An internalized desire for domestic bliss. _ He thinks, mockingly. 

The people inside can’t see him. But then a cat hops up on the window sill, and Killua is sure that the cat is looking at him. 

He looks at the cat for a few moments, and the cat does not look away. He is sure the cat and him are exchanging something profound.

The cat flicks its tail. 

And Killua continues to stare. He becomes aware of the moon, which is rising above the neighborhood, a silver crescent piercing the dusk-light sky. 

Killua waits for a response from the cat, but the cat just turns around and rubs its side against the window before jumping down and out of sight. 

“Pshh.” Replies Killua. Then he puts his board back on the pavement and propels himself forward. His shirt billows against him. 

Killua’s head of white hair shines like a second moon as he continues to propel himself ever forward. 

—

Killua sees the help wanted sign. He walks in, glancing up at the door. “Hunter’s.” He recognizes the name. His brother reviewed the place 5 years ago when it first opened. He waits at the counter. 

“Dinner for one?” says the host, who wears a black dress embroidered with blue and purple eyes. Her name tag says “Eta.” 

Killua is slightly surprised that Eta does not appear to be judging his appearance or his age.

“No, I’m here for a job.” 

“Do you have a resume?”

“No.” says Killua. “But, I’d like to introduce myself to someone who might hire me.”

“Ok.” Eta smiles. “Come with me.”

_ Too easy. _ Killua thinks, already bored. 

Eta leads Killua back through the restaurant. She asks him to wait at the bar as she heads back to the kitchen. Killua can see almost everything from where he stands—even the dish pit is slightly visible. 

Killua watches Eta as she talks to a shorter woman, who’s most likely the head chef judging from her confident stance. The head chef turns around and peers questioningly out at Killua, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. She looks too young to be a head chef. But then the woman turns around and waves her hand at a blond cook who immediately springs into action. _ No, she is definitely the head. _ Killua confirms, silently. 

The beckoned blond cook washes their hands then follows Eta out of the kitchen and towards Killua. “Killua, this is Kurapika. They have a moment to ask you a few questions.” Says Eta.

And then Eta leaves Kurapika and Killua at the bar. 

“What kind of position are you looking for?” Asks Kurapika, getting right to the point. 

“Whatever you got. But back of house would be better.”

“Ok, do you have any experience?”

“No.”

“Ok, so entry level position-wise, we have dishwashing jobs available.”

“Cool.”

“What’s your availability?”

“I’m free whenever.” Killua maintains an air of complete indifference.

“And why do you want to work here?”

_I don’t want to work here._ _I don’t want anything. I don’t even need the money. I’m just bored, and I hate being in the house._ Thinks Killua, but says instead. “I’ve always respected Hunter’s for its devotion to presenting complex dishes at an accessible price. And Hunter’s never dulls its vision to please a less sophisticated palate.” It was a line paraphrased from one of Illumi’s most recent articles that Killua had helped edit. Killua continues. “And I guess, I just really respect that, and more than anything, I wanna work for a place I respect.” 

Kurapika looks at Killua, and Killua meets their gaze. Killua can tell in an instant that Kurapika knows he is bullshitting. Killua hates when people are perceptive. But Kurapika surprises Killua by saying, “This is a little unconventional, but do you have time for a working interview right now? We are in desperate need of dishwashers, and one of our dishwashers called in sick tonight. We’d give you a free meal of course and see if you fit in well with the kitchen. It would only be a few hours.”

Killua doesn’t hesitate, just replies smoothly “yeah sure.”

—

Killua had always thought stages were a touch immoral—making people work for two or three hours completely without pay or even promise of a job. However, Killua knew that the word stage came from the french word stragiaire, which originally implied an apprenticeship as well as the special honor of being trained by a master for free.

Killua couldn’t say that his dishwashing companion was exactly a master, although he had to admit, the spiky haired teenager was incredibly energetic. 

“My name’s Killua.” Says Killua when Kurapika drops him off in the dishpit. 

“Hi, I’m Gon!” Says the teenager.

Killua wonders how old Gon is and suspects they are around the same age. 

Killua watches Gon pull out a dish rack and say, “Basically you just put the dishes on here and slide it in.” 

“Ok.” Killua steps up to the dish rack and starts piling smaller items on first and then placing larger items over them. 

“Whoah, that’s such a good idea! I never thought of that.” Exclaims Gon.

Killua is almost flattered. “Well, they’ll all get cleaned, won’t they?”

“Yeah, the dishwasher is SUPER powerful, and that’ll really save us some time.”

Killua then stands back so Gon can do a load. Gon isn’t as strategic, not treating the rack as a puzzle piece, but he’s faster and has more brute strength.

“Wow, you’re good. I’m actually impressed.” Says Killua.

Gon beams in response. 

“Hey, I know!” Exclaims Killua. “Gon, how long do you think it will take you to finish all these dishes?” 

Gon looks over at the pile of dishes, apparently deep in thought. “15 minutes!”

“15 minutes? Really?! I bet you won’t be able to do it in that time.”

“Ok! Loser owes the winner...”

“A snack of their choosing!”

“Ok! Hey, Kurapika!” Gon yells. “Can you start a timer for 15 minutes?”

—

The night continues like this—Gon and Killua, taking turns at racing, and then timing each other, and then running clean dishes back to the kitchen, and then lugging massive bus tubs back to the dishpit. All the while, they laugh, propose new games, and ask each other questions, between the erratic motions of kitchen work. 

Killua is surprised when Kurapika taps him on the shoulder. 

“Yes?” Killua says. 

“It’s been three hours. We can’t keep you any longer.”

“No, I can stay. It’s no problem.” And Killua goes to turn back to Gon. 

“No.” Says Kurapika. “We can’t let you do that. We’re not paying you. It would be wrong and illegal.” 

“Ok.” Killua says, not able to think of an argument that wouldn’t make him seem weird and desperate. He turns to Gon once again and says, “I guess I’ll see you around Gon.” But he wasn’t sure he would. If he didn’t get the job, he most certainly wouldn’t. Killua turns to leave.

“Wait!” Says Gon. “You can wait for me if you want, Killua.”

Killua can’t believe his ears, which have turned slightly red. He looks back at Gon, who continues. “I don’t have that much longer.”

Killua is almost embarrassed for Gon, who seems to be completely unabashed by making such a statement.  _ I’m not going to wait for him. That’s ridiculous. _ He thinks, yet finds himself saying, “Sure, I can wait.” Now, Killua is embarrassed of his own actions, but Gon is positively glowing, dish sprayer in one hand, grimy spatula in the other, his apron sopping wet from all the night’s splashing. 

“I do have to ask you a few questions, Killua.”

Killua and Kurapika go out front and sit at the bar. It’s a short conversation. “You seem to work well with Gon and the rest of the kitchen. You were fast. You have open availability. You’ve got the job, Killua.”

Killua is almost confused by the excited pace of his heart beat when he hears this news. But he responds smoothly, nonetheless. “Ok, cool.”

—

Killua goes to pull up a stool and shove it in the corner by the dish pit. 

“Well you really shouldn’t be in the kitchen, it’s kind of a safety hazard…” Starts Kurapika, but stops when they see Gon’s face. “Wait one second.” Says Kurapika, who is looking concerned and stressed. They turn onto the line, saying “Corner!”

Kurapika comes back a few moments later with a tall line cook who has short black hair. Killua can’t hear what they are saying from his dishpit perch. He can only see them talking, exchanging expressions and hand gestures, the taller line cook bending over to hear Kurapika’s clearly nervous ramble. Killua begins to wonder at the nature of the relationship but then becomes bored at the thought. Kurapika walks over to Killua and says “I guess it’s fine if you are here. Just don’t do anything foolish. A kitchen is a dangerous place, and we haven’t signed any paperwork, so essentially you are a liability.”

“Sweet.” Says Killua, uninterested at this point. 

“What do you want to eat?” Asks the line cook. “I’ll make you anything off the menu.”

Killua orders the most expensive thing off the menu and then refocuses on Gon.


	5. Enter Hisoka

Gon sleeps soundly. And wakes after his fifth alarm.

He stayed out late with Killua, and he remembers the night, as if he had just dreamt it. 

_ After close, they went to the abandoned skate park, and Gon insisted on learning how to balance on Killua’s board. Killua complied, his head of white hair—a beacon against the darkened swaths of concrete.  _

_ Despite Killua’s warning, Gon attempted a kickflip after only a few seconds and was promptly thrown onto his back, receiving a deep cut into his left elbow. Gon burst into laughter, his eyes watering. Then, he shot up before Killua could reach him, saying “I’ll get it this time!” Killua grabbed his arms, and then said. “No way, Gon.” He held Gon’s hand and sat him down on the slope of the pool. He proceeded to sop up the blood with the cuff of his sleeve and then pick out the bits of grime that had embedded in Gon’s elbow. Gon stared wide eyed as  _

_ Killua delicately licked his other sleeve and pressed its cuff against the open wound, dabbing away any remaining dirt, and applying pressure to stop the flow of blood. Killua noticed Gon staring and then promptly tilted his head down, obscuring his eyes from view. “Don’t stare at me like that, Gon.” _

Now Gon is pulling his green shorts on, picking them up from where he had tossed them on the floor last night. He hadn’t been offended when Killua had told him not to stare. Rather, he had become more assured—more assured that he should let Killua know just glad he was to have such a wonderful new friend.

  
  
  


He heads down to the water with his fishing pole. Halfway down the hill, his phone beeps. It’s from Killua. 

Killua:  _ Hey I have some time before work. Wanna skate? _

Gon stops in his tracks immediately and starts running back up the hill, holding his wide brimmed fishing hat securely to his head, so it doesn’t fly away in his jubilant wake. 

  
  


\--

  
  


Gon and Killua enter the kitchen through the back. They are both sweaty and slightly flushed from being out in the sun for the past hour. Gon says hi to everyone in the kitchen as they pass. “Hi, Melody.” “Hi, Biksy.” “Hi, Wing.” And so on and so on. 

They reach the back where the cubbies are stored. The tight space is bustling with the closing crew who are all rushed to clock in on time. Fresh aprons are held on a high shelf in blue plastic crates. Gon can’t usually reach the aprons, but he always tries, attempting to launch himself upward and grasp one of the hanging strings. As he is jumping, a tall figure turns around and reaches the crate before Gon can. “I can get those for you.” The voice is silky and almost cat like. The figure, dressed in a crisp white chef’s shirt and possessing a head of pink flame-like hair, looks down at Gon. Their thin lipped mouth curves into a hungry smile. They hand the apron to Gon. 

“Thanks.” Gon mutters. 

“Don’t mention it.” The figure purrs. 

Killua comes up behind Gon and reaches for an apron easily. 

“And you two are...?” Says the stranger, who’s now standing with his hips slightly forward, arms crossed, head cast slightly back—as if appraising a piece of fine art. 

“Gon.”

“Killua.”

“Delicious.” 

Gon and Killua turn away. As they are heading toward the register to clock in, Killua whispers in Gon’s ear. “What’s with that creep?”

\--

Bisky turns into the dishpit. 

“Hello Gon! Hello Killua!”

“Hi Bisky.” 

“Not too many dishes I see.”

“I guess.” Killua has the dish hose in his hand and is spraying out the inside of a massive silver bowl. Gon is by his side, consolidating dishes into messy piles. 

“Well if there’s not too much to do, how about you come with me, Gon?”

“What? Why?” Says Killua, turning around abruptly. 

“Well, I’ve been thinking. The two of you are showing quite a lot of promise. So I thought I’d start training you on some more complex tasks when I have a free moment here and there. But I’d only be able to train one of you at a time, so the dishes still get done.”

“We’d prefer to be able to learn together.” Says Gon, who is holding a sopping pile of plates against his apron and looking Bisky straight in the eye. 

“Huh-” Bisky looks taken aback, and then starts to beam. “Aww. Aren’t you two just so cute?” She says as she claps her hands together. 

“Whatever.” Mutters Killua, who is now sliding a full load into the dishwasher and shutting it with a bang. 

“Well, I suppose if you get the dishes done in the next ten minutes, I can train you both!” 

“Ten minutes? How are we supposed to do all of this in ten minutes? That’s just stupid.” Killua says to Bisky, exasperated. 

“It’s your first challenge. And if I am going to be generous enough to train you, you will start being a little more respectful towards me, your superior and your elder.” Bisky is pointing at Killua, face pinched and sour.

“Okay, okay.” And Killua waves a hand at her, turning back to his dishes. 

Bisky’s face is red with rage at the dismissal. She just says, “Ten minutes. Or I won’t train you at all.”

Gon laughs uncomfortably. “Thanks, Bisky. We’ll get it done!”

\--

Twenty minutes later and Bisky is having the two teenagers pull out massive crates of purple cabbage from the walk in. 

“This just seems like basic prep work. I wonder what she’s getting at.” Killua whispers to Gon.

Gon shrugs, but Bisky speaks. “You have to start at the beginning. Today, we’ll learn about the concept of salinity. Salt is one of your most basic tools as a chef, and it is used in almost every dish, savory or sweet. The most common pitfall of an inexperienced home cook is a lack of salt. But salt also has its dangers. Too much salt, and it’s the first thing you taste. Hold out your hand.”

Bisky places a pinch of salt in both Killua and Gon’s upturned hands. “Close your eyes and taste.” They do. Gon rolls around the tiny granules of rock in his mouth, letting them dissolve before he swallows. 

“Remember what it felt like in your mouth.” Says Bisky. She claps her hands. “Now! Quarter all these cabbage heads and remove all their tough cores.”

This task takes them nearly two hours, despite their speed and Bisky barking at them every few minutes to go faster. Once they have a towering pyramid of cabbage quarters, Bisky lugs a giant metal machine onto the table. “It’s a shredder. Don’t shove too much cabbage in at once or it will jam.” Gon has to stand on a crate as he leans over the shredder, placing the cabbage pieces into the top of the machine as Killua hands the quarters up to him. They trade jobs after Killua insists, “Let me try that part. I want to see the blade.” 

Soon they have two massive bowls of shredded purple cabbage. Bisky hands them two seperate quarts of salt. “Each of you, salt a bowl of cabbage until it is just too salty.”

They both nod and set out, pouring handfuls of salt over the cabbage. Both of them look over at the other when they have tossed the cabbage thoroughly. “How do you think you did?” Asks Killua. 

“I don’t know.” Says Gon, looking serious. Then without speaking, they both break into laughter. 

As they are laughing, someone approaches them from behind, hovering for a moment before speaking. “May I?”

It’s the pink haired stranger from before. He reaches a slender white hand into Gon’s bowl of cabbage, picks out a few strands, tilts back his head and slowly places the cabbage pieces in his mouth. He tastes it with his eyes closed and then proceeds to lick his lips. 

“How impressive.” He purrs. “You have an almost perfect understanding of salinity. And for one so young. You must be only…?” 

Gon doesn’t speak for a moment, just stares up at the stranger with his mouth in a hard line. “Eighteen.” Gon says curtly. 

“Eighteen. Ah. How truly precious you are.” 

The stranger turns to walk away. As he does so, he bumps into Gon, hitting the spot where Gon fell on Killua’s skateboard last evening. For such a light tap, the wound screams with incredible pain.

Gon watches the stranger as he travels languidly through the kitchen. 

“I know who that guy is.” Says Killua. 

“You do?” 

“At first, I couldn’t place him. But then I realized where I had seen him before. He’s an old friend of my brother’s. His name is Hisoka” 


	6. Spiders in the Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! got a new job :/

This is the third time Leorio has been assigned to prep. And he can’t say he minds. 

Kurapika has specially made everyone in the kitchen an individual prep list. They have written Leorio’s name in narrow and leaning scrawl next to an almost imperceptible smiley face. Leorio looks up at Kurapika when he finds this detail. Kurapika is bent over a basket of serranos, their slender hands deftly picking off the pepper’s tops. They do not look at Leorio. Instead, they determinedly stare down. 

Leorio’s list is extremely short today, and he takes a moment to wonder why. At first he is stung, assuming that Kurapika thinks he is incapable of more, but when he asks Melody about her list, she replies in her dulcet tones. “It’s an oddly slow day. Sometimes, in the beginning of summer we have days like this.” Leorio can’t help but notice there are no smiley faces on Melody’s prep list and finds a quiet ease in this revelation. 

Leorio finishes each task, checking them off with an orange sharpie as he goes. Melody works steadily by his side, a rhythm to each of her tasks. She hums quietly. And when she isn’t humming, she is asking Leorio questions about himself. Over the course of three hours, Leorio manages to share with Melody his deepest desire, his favorite dish from home, his go-to karaoke song, his most extreme pet peeve, and the reason why he always carries a briefcase around. He discovers that Melody is a sound artist, who was classically trained at the York New Conservatory of Music until she had a falling out with the school’s approach to musical pedagogy. 

Leorio glances over at Kurapika more than he should. Kurapika is talking to Bisky about a new recipe while adding cups of lemon juice and handfuls of salt to a huge pot of boiling liquid, stirring it with a comically large wooden spoon that looks like it belongs to a witch’s cauldron. Kurapika has to stand on a stepping stool in order to see what they are stirring, but even when they are perched on the stepping stool, they still have to strain, stretching precariously onto their tiptoes. The sight makes Leorio smile. 

“Kurapika is calmed by you.” Melody has noticed the focus of Leorio’s gaze. 

“Huh? Oh…” Leorio is blushing immediately. “Really?”

“I have known Kurapika for quite some time. Their heart is always ... icy, but when I see them around you, they seem different.”

Leorio laughs, hoping it will make him more unreadable. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He asks Melody if she needs help with any of her list, but she is also nearing the end of her tasks. He goes over to where Gon and Killua are huddled over a hotel pan of half frozen shrimp. 

“Need any help?” He asks the two teenagers, who have been chuckling to themselves all day.

“No, we’re fine.” Replies the white haired teenager, Killua, with a rather cold tone. 

“This is the last thing on our list.” Gon supplies sweetly, cupping a half peeled shrimp in his wet hand, reddened from the cold. “Thanks though, Leorio!”

“Ha! I’m ahead now.” Says Killua. 

“Wait, that doesn’t count, I was talking to Leorio.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.” 

Gon elbows Killua in the side. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch up.”

And then it’s as if Leorio does not exist as the teenagers pry off the pale grey exoskeletons with manic speed.

“Ok.” Says Leorio. He heads toward Bisky and Kurapika. 

“I’m all done with my list. Can I help in any way?”   
  


“No, I don’t think so.” Says Kurapika, turning around, beads of sweat forming on their brow from where they have been hanging over the huge pot of soup. 

“I don’t have anything for you to do either...oh!” Exclaims Bisky. “You know what this means, Leorio?”

“No…” Leorio says hesitantly.

“Deep cleaning!”

“Oh…” Says Leorio, regretting his question immediately. Kurapika giggles and smiles into their soup.

“You too, Kurapika!”

“Wha… But my soup!”

“Oh, it’s done. You’re just being a perfectionist. You can help Leorio. Start under the stairs. It’s so dusty.”

\--

Kurapika and Leorio stand in the pantry, looking into the neglected space beneath the stairs. Crates of wine, kegs of beer, and the skeletal remains of old machinery are shoved into dark corners, each covered in their own blanket of dust. 

Killua and Gon appear behind them equipped with brooms and rags. Gon says “Biksy sent us.” They all stare at the mess, silently, for a few more moments. 

“Ok, I guess we should start.” Says Leorio.

“Let’s move all the big stuff out of the way and start wiping that down.” Proposes Kurapika thoughtfully. “And then we can sweep under the stairs.”

Kurapika and Leorio start pushing a heavy keg out of the way as Biksy yells, “Watch out for spiders!”

“Spiders…” Says Kurapika, their face suddenly ghost like. 

“What? You afraid of spiders?” Leorio prods, smiling. 

“Not afraid. I just  _ hate _ them.” Kurapika puts special emphasis on the word hate. 

Leorio smiles.

\--

Gon and Killua find a mousetrap, and set it off. They are entertained by this, and laugh raucously with each other. Otherwise, they only half heartedly wipe off the crates as they idly chat. 

Soon, the crew discovers that not only are there spiders, there are also cockroaches, who scurry up into crevices in the wall. 

“Ew, Bisky. Did you know we have little creatures living among us?” Yells Leorio. 

“Yeah. We’re dealing with it.” She says without looking up from her recipe. 

Killua and Gon manage to stir up huge clouds of dust. Leorio starts to scratch at his arms. His nose is dripping and red. He says through watery eyes. “Yeah, I’m allergic to dust.”

A spider crawls out from under a table. Kurapika leaps forward to kill it. “Kill it! Kill it!”

“No!” Says the stuffed up Leorio. “Here. Lemme take it outside.”

“No sympathy for spiders.” Says Kurapika, bloodlust alight in their eyes, as they raise their foot to stomp. But Leorio leans down in front of them, coaxing the spider onto a napkin. 

“What’s this spider ever done to you, huh?” He says as he cautiously rushes the spider through the kitchen and out the door. 

“Phew. See, no big deal.” He announces when he returns, along with a deep sniffle and exaggerated  _ achoo!  _

“You’re gross, old man.” Says Killua. He and Gon are watching a line of ants carrying crumbs into an unseen opening. 

“Old…Pshhh. I can’t be more than 3 years older than you.”

“Really?! Huh.” But Killua quickly loses interest and returns his attention to Gon, who is wide eyed and fascinated, watching the ants. “They are feeding each other. Just like humans do.” He observes. Killua smiles affectionately at him, although Gon doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Next time there’s a spider, let me kill it.” Says Kurapika as they wipe down the filthy baseboard, kneeling close to Leorio. 

“No way. I will not let an innocent life be taken.” Says Leorio as he pushes his glasses up importantly. 

Kurapika takes a handful of dust and brings their palm up, inches from Leorio’s face. Leorio is taken aback by the closeness, as Kurapika leans in and purses their lips. They stare at Leorio for a few beats, their eyes unflinching behind their shards of blond hair. Then, they blow the pile of dust in Leorio’s face.

“Hey! That was way unfair.” Leorio says after a fit of sneezes. 

Kurapika laughs into their hand. “No, it was entirely worth it.”

\--

It’s light outside—and hot. Leorio checks his phone, the temperature reads ninety five degrees. He whistles. “Dang. I can’t believe I’m gonna ride in this heat.”

Kurapika is standing beside him, checking their phone for the bus schedule. “Take the bus.” 

Leorio looks down at Kurapika. But they don’t look back at him.  _ Was this an invitation? _ “What bus do you ride?” He asks Kurapika. 

“44.”

“Ah. I’d have to take the 78.” Leorio looks up at the blistering sky. “I think I’ll ride.”

“Ha. So you’d take the bus if you could ride with me?” Kurapika chances a look up at Leorio. 

“Yeah. Is that so wrong?” 

“No. Just funny.” Kurapika looks down at their crossed feet. 

Leorio stands, buckling his helmet, and pulling out his water bottle. He takes a swig, and is surprised that Kurapika has not started to go. He almost feels awkward, wondering why Kurapika is lingering.

“Cleaning today was sort of fun.” Says Kurapika. 

_ Was this small talk?  _ “Yeah, I guess it sort of was. Except for the allergy attack.” Leorio smiles. 

“Yeah, are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for asking. Hey, what’s your deal with spiders anyways?”

Kurapika gazes down the street. “It’s a long story.”

“Sounds dramatic.”

“I’ll tell you one day.”

“Okay. I’d like that.” 

Kurapika steps closer to Leorio to let a set of pedestrians walk by. They don’t speak for a few more moments and don’t step away when the pedestrians have walked by and opened the door to Hunter’s. 

“We could—” Leorio starts, but Kurapika starts talking at the same time. 

“I guess I should —what’d you say, sorry?”

“Oh nothing.” 

“Ok, well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Leorio.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”


End file.
